


All I Need In This Life of Sin

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bonnie & Clyde, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jealousy, Porn With Plot, Smut, except without all the murder lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8463694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: "I hate these fucking shoes," Clarke grumbles, kicking her strappy heels off. "Why can’t Octavia play the blushing bride for once?"
“Because we all have to play to our strengths, Clarke,” Octavia says cheekily, waggling her brows pointedly in the direction of the blonde’s chest. “You’re an asset for a reason.”
Clarke rolls her eyes. "This is a very terrible way of saying that my boobs are distracting."
 
 
Or, the one where the Blakes + Clarke Griffin are a trio of lootin', tootin' heisters.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i have a lot of emotions about the S3 finale of From Dusk Till Dawn.
> 
> i was also shamelessly inspired to write Bellarke as kickass heist partners. (please watch FDTD pLEASE)
> 
>  
> 
> (title from ''03 Bonnie & Clyde', by Beyoncé and Jay Z. because, really, is there any other option?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

They burst into the dingy motel room, panting harshly.

 

Bellamy pulls his gun from his jacket as he makes a beeline for their window, peeking cautiously through the shutters they’d made sure to pull all the way down before leaving. He scrunches his eyes slightly against the light of sun streaming in, warm and buttery, casting shadows of molten gold all throughout the room.

 

“How’s it look?” Clarke asks, making sure to keep her voice low.

 

“Clear,” he reports, his thumb resting lightly on the safety while he scans their surroundings. “So far, at least.” He squints as the rumble of an engine approaches, rubber crunching against dirt. “O looks good, too.”

 

Clarke sighs, sinking down on one of the twin beds. “I _hate_ these fucking shoes,” she grumbles, kicking her strappy heels off. “Why can’t Octavia play the blushing bride for once?”

 

Suddenly, the bathroom door bangs open. The younger Blake strides in as if on cue, with a wide grin on her face, a black bike helmet under one arm and a large duffel bag on the other.

 

“Because we all have to play to our _strengths_ , Clarke,” Octavia says cheekily, waggling her brows pointedly in the direction of the blonde’s chest. “You’re an _asset_ for a reason.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes, not even fazed by the other girl’s unorthodox entrance. “This is a very terrible way of saying that my boobs are distracting.”

 

Octavia smirks unapologetically. “Well it _worked_ , didn’t it? Pretty sure that teller would’ve been more than willing to cash a few checks for you.”

 

“All right, that’s enough,” Bellamy says gruffly, his movements slightly jerkier than usual as he turns away from the window. “The take?”

 

It’s his sister’s turn to roll her eyes. “All here, big brother,” she says, letting the bag slide off her shoulder and land on the round table with a flat thud. She shakes her head as Bellamy walks up to her. “Where’s the trust?”

 

“Left it at the bank when the clerk insisted on scanning our IDs,” he retorts dryly. “Your contact needs to do better.”

 

“Monty’s fakes were _impeccable_ , Bell,” Octavia snaps exasperatedly. “They held up under the scan, didn’t they? Good fucking thing, too, because they were never even supposed to _get_ scanned. It’s not Monty’s fault you were acting suspicious.”

 

Clarke’s brows tuck together as she approaches the table, feet bare under her baby blue sundress. “What _was_ that, anyway?”

 

He doesn’t look up, concentrating on unzipping the bag to inspect its contents. “What was what?”

 

Clarke comes up beside him, watching him rake through the stacks of cash. “The part where you not so politely asked the clerk if he’d ‘be so kind as to hurry the fuck up’ and do his job?”

 

He shrugs, keeping his head down and focused on handling their bounty. “We were in a rush.”

 

Octavia snorts. “No, we weren’t. If anything, we were in the _opposite_ of—”

 

“Thanks, O,” he says flatly, shoving the money back into the bag. Zipping it back up, he pivots on his heel, peeling off his jacket as he heads towards the bathroom. “I’m gonna hit the shower,” he announces, grabbing his own bag off a chair on his way in. “Keep an eye out for any uniforms.”

 

He just manages to refrain from slamming the door shut, ripping his arms free of the jacket sleeves and unceremoniously tossing the garment onto the countertop. He starts working on the buttons of his white shirt, but he only makes it about halfway down before giving up. Bracing his hands on the ceramic edge of the counter, he lets his head drop forward, exhaling deeply.

 

Too close.

 

They’ve had close before, of course — but today was way _too_ close.

 

And it was all his fucking fault.

 

Because that stupid fucking clerk just had to offer to help them to set up a savings account, _‘with a few bonus perks that I think you’ll find especially — ahem — generous’._

Because that stupid fucking clerk just had to glance over at Clarke on the last word, his thin lips twisting in a leer as his gaze lingered on her.

 

Because that stupid fucking clerk just had to let his narrow eyes dart down to the not so subtle hint of cleavage peeking out from the low neckline of Clarke’s dress, turning Bellamy’s entire world red within the span of a single second.

 

Because that stupid fucking clerk should thank whatever god he believes in that Bellamy had gone with a sharp glare and a thinly veiled threat, instead of reaching for the gun tucked inside of his jacket right away.

 

He shakes his head, hard enough that he sees faint spots of grey-black when he blinks, each one fuzzy around the edges. Even so, he can’t quite blur out the memory of Clarke’s hand on his arm, both soothing and restraining at the same time. He can still see her face in his mind, blue eyes widening and brows furrowing in confusion in the split second the clerk’s back was turned.

 

Shit, fuck, _damn_.

 

Shaking his head again, he pushes off the counter and yanks his shirt up and over his head, not bothering with the rest of the buttons. His white undershirt follows immediately after, along with the rest of his clothes. He flips the shower on, not waiting for the water to warm up before stepping into the cool spray. He prefers it to hot water, anyway, especially after a day spent under the blazing sun. It’s always blazing down here.

 

 

 

By the time he grabs his bag and steps out of the bathroom, the humid air hitting his bare chest and turning it damp before he can even blink, Clarke is sitting alone at the table, fiddling with the dummy doorknob he’d procured for her a couple weeks ago.

 

Setting his bag down in the chair against the wall, he fishes a fresh wife-beater out before looking around the empty room. “Where’s O?”

 

Clarke shrugs, not looking up from the doorknob in her hands. “Went out for some food. She’s been itching for a Big Mac all day.”

 

Bellamy scoffs as he pulls the sleeveless shirt on. “Of course she is. Think she’ll actually remember to get us some this time?”

 

Clarke snorts. “Me? Sure. You? Wouldn’t place any bets.” She looks up, eyes bright. “Hey, come check this out.”

 

He raises a brow, but moves over to the table anyway. “Let me guess,” he says lightly, standing across from her with his arms folded over his chest. “Pick a card, any card?”

 

She holds the lock out on the table. With a couple neat, sharp jabs of her palm, she pops it loose, the fake knob swinging free of its frame.

 

He’s already nodding approvingly before his mind can even quite catch up, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Not bad, princess.” She’s been practicing the trick pretty diligently over the last few days.

 

“Just got it, while you were in the shower,” she tells him, beaming down at her handiwork. He can’t help but drink in the sight of her, all happy and proud of her little accomplishment, one that Octavia could easily perform by the time she turned eleven. Her blonde curls are rumpled, cheeks flushed pink thanks to the stifling heat. She’s removed the pins from her hair, letting the front pieces loose from the soft, feminine style she’d had them pulled back in.

 

He likes her hair better this way, all messy and tousled. It reminds him of just how much she’s changed — how different she is now, compared to the privileged, puritanical, picture-perfect girl he’d first met a year ago, blonde waves all neatly braided back.

 

He snaps out of it in an instant when she glances up, her brow arched. “You were in there quite a while. Everything okay?”

 

He stiffens, his expression shuttering before he turns away, snagging his gun from the table before striding towards the closest bed. “Yeah, fine, good.” He sits on the foot of the bed, unloading the gun before starting to take it apart, piece by piece. “Why?”

 

He doesn’t hear her get up, but he spots her approaching him slowly out of the corner of his eye.

 

“You don’t _sound_ fine,” she says, in that firm but gentle way he knows full well she only ever pulls on him. Like she’s _handling_ him. “You don’t sound good, either.”

 

“It’s nothing, Clarke,” he grits out, fingers faltering over the metal parts. He huffs, tossing them impatiently onto the bed as he gets up in search of a clean rag. “Quit going _on_ about it.”

 

He feels her come up behind him as he bends over his bag. “So we’re just not gonna talk about what happened back there? Because one minute you were all cool and calm, and the next, you were practically biting that clerk’s head off.”

 

“I said it’s nothing,” he repeats tersely, fingers closing around the soft cloth and pulling it out roughly. He turns around, but Clarke steps sideways, blocking his way.

 

“It’s _not_ nothing,” she argues, her arms crossed tightly across her middle, pushing the mounds of her breasts further up on her chest. “You basically made a complete one-eighty in the time it took to _blink_. What was _that_ about?”

 

“ _Forget_ it, Clarke,” he growls, his hand curling into a hard fist around the rag.

 

“Your little temper tantrum almost sabotaged the entire job, Bellamy,” she continues, her jaw clenching stubbornly. “We were _this close_ to ending up behind bars, all three of us. _You’re_ the one who’s always going on about leaving emotion at the door. What the _hell_ managed to piss you off so—”

 

His arms shoot out, one snatching her by the arm and the other by the waist. He pivots sharply, half pulling, half spinning her about so she’s pressed flat to the wall behind him, his body caging her in. To her credit, she doesn’t so much as squeak in surprise — just a sudden, barely audible intake of breath as she’s swiftly wheeled about.

 

Instead, she just stares up at him, the deep blue of her eyes cutting through tousled locks of blonde to fix on him, unflinching, almost _expectant_.

 

He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage. For a brief second, he’s sure she can feel it too, with the way his chest is pressed against hers.

 

His hand comes up to hover at her chest. Slowly, he lets the tip of one finger graze against her bare skin, tracing a line that’s as close along the low neckline of her dress as he can manage.

 

“I hate this fucking dress,” he mutters. His breath stirs the hair around her face, the ends of the golden strands brushing against her collarbone.

 

She draws a shallow breath, her chest rising with the movement to press upward against his finger. He watches, transfixed, as the rounded flesh dips pliantly under the pad of his fingertip.

 

“No, you don’t,” she says, the lightest of tremors undercutting her tone of certainty. “You like this dress.”

 

He growls, his hips knocking into hers. “No, I don’t,” he bites out, one hand curving around her face as he surges forward to kiss her.

 

He can’t help but groan when he feels her respond almost instantly, her lips returning the urgent pressure with her own, her hands sliding up along his chest to curl around his neck. He pushes even harder into her, the wall bracing her steady for him as his other hand closes around her hip, squeezing fiercely.

 

They’re both breathless by the time he breaks the kiss. He pitches forward to press his forehead against hers, beads of perspiration already beginning to develop on the surface of their skin.

 

She actually huffs a laugh when he pushes the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders. “Admit it, Blake,” she says with a small, knowing grin. “You _like_ it.”

 

He kisses her again, his mouth hard on her smiling one as he reaches round to undo the delicate zipper along the back of the dress. Once he’s managed that, he slides the straps further down, freeing her arms completely. Making sure to keep her occupied with his lips and tongue on hers, he runs his palms along the smooth length of her arms, taking his time to intertwine his fingers with hers.

 

Suddenly, his grip tightens on her hands — and with one quick, upwards movement, her arms are stretched high above her, hands pressed snugly into the wall.

 

He pulls back to survey her, lips swollen and skin flushed, her body all stretched out against the wall with his hands still wrapped around hers. No longer held up by the straps and the press of his chest against hers, the neckline of the dress sags down and drops weakly past her rounded bosom, revealing the black strapless bra underneath. Her chest heaves with every breath she takes, the generous flesh of her breasts pulled high thanks to her position, straining against the cups of the bra and threatening to spill right over.

 

He takes his time to look her up and down, his eyes darkening a little more with every second he lets himself stare.

 

Finally, he drags his gaze back up to her face, taking in her parted lips, her tousled hair ( _his_ handiwork), the defiant jut of her chin.

 

He smirks, leaning in to lick a slow stripe up the column of her neck. Nosing her hair aside, he lets his lips brush across the lobe of her ear. “I like it better like this,” he whispers.

 

She shivers, but he’s not sure if it’s from his words, or his tongue, or her stretched-out position. Hopefully it’s some combination involving all three.

 

He squeezes lightly around her hands. “Keep them up, princess,” he murmurs into her ear, letting his palms slide down past her wrists and along her forearms. “Think you can do that for me?”

 

She arches against him when he grazes past her sensitive upper arms. “So fucking _demanding_ ,” she mutters — but her arms stay up.

 

“Takes one to know one,” he shoots back lightly, turning his attention to her beautiful body. Curving his hands around each of her breasts, he squeezes, pushing them together and upwards. “Shit, princess. So fucking gorgeous like this.”

 

She writhes, making a small sound in the back of her throat — a sort of strangled whine. “Bellamy. _Please_.”

 

“Please?” he echoes, looking up at her innocently as he continues to play with her, kneading her flesh in steady, hard circles so that the twin globes come together and then apart and then together again, over and over in a deliberately slow rhythm.

 

She curses under her breath, arching off the wall as if trying to fit more of herself into his hands. “Take the fucking thing _off_ already.”

 

He cocks his head, pulling back so that he’s just barely _holding_ her breasts, cradling them lightly in his palms. “What happened to ‘please’?”

 

She rolls her eyes, blowing a stray strand of blonde out of her face before she levels him with a flat look. “Take the fucking thing off already… _please_.”

 

Frankly, he’s kind of impressed. He’s literally got her half-naked with her back against a wall, and she’s _still_ trying to boss him around.

 

… It’s pretty safe to say this is officially the most turned on he’s ever been in his life.

 

“Fuck it,” he decides abruptly, yanking the cups of her bra down before diving in to close his mouth around her nipple.

 

She starts in surprise, her body jerking helplessly at the sudden introduction of his tongue and teeth to her breast. Laying his hands flat across her ribs to hold her still, he lashes his tongue across her nipple, working it even harder with his ministrations before sucking none too gently. She cries out at the delicious spike of pleasure-pain shocking her system, her arms dropping as she struggles to stay upright and on her feet.

 

His mouth is off her in a heartbeat, both his hands closing around her wrists to pull them back up over her head and press them into the wall.

 

“That’s not keeping them up, princess,” he warns, nipping lightly at her jaw.

 

She huffs frustratedly, the warm air stirring through his dark hair. “I think I liked it better when you hated this dress.”

 

He actually smiles at that, pressing his lips to her jaw before moving back up to drop another kiss onto her mouth. “No, you don’t.”

 

She opens her mouth to respond, blue eyes already flashing heatedly — but he seals his lips over hers, moving hard and fast and licking deep into her in the way that always makes her strain up on her toes to press even closer, even more fully against him.

 

He rips his mouth from her before he can get too lost in their combined desire, his own arousal stoked even higher when he feels the way her panting pushes her breasts against his own chest. He can feel her, soft and warm, even through the thin layer of cotton still separating their bodies. He groans, the sound guttural as he lays a trail of hot kisses along her jawline. “Come on, princess. You can be good for a little bit longer. Just a little more.”

 

She exhales, dropping back down onto her heels. “I _know_ I can,” she says, almost sullen. “I just don’t _want_ to.”

 

He chuckles, turning to press his smile into her neck, right where her jaw and ear meet. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, stroking soothingly down her sides.

 

“You better,” she mutters, somewhat pacified for the moment by his petting.

 

He pulls back to flash her a cheeky grin — but then he sees her, pink-flushed and spread out against the wall, her glorious breasts lifting and falling and lifting again, as if keeping time with his thudding heart… and just the mere sight of it nearly undoes him.

 

“Fuck, princess,” he groans, drawn right back in by some invisible magnetic pull. His hands slide back up to curve around her breasts once more. But this time, her nipples — her erect, rosy, _pretty_ nipples — are completely exposed and perfectly framed by the crescent arcs formed by his hands.

 

The picture she makes right now is so goddamn _beautiful_ , he thinks he could _actually_ cry.

 

“Fuck,” he repeats, kneading her generous mounds slowly as he bends so he’s practically at eye level with them. Squeezing her breasts in his hands, his mouth actually starts watering at the sight of the creamy flesh spilling through the gaps in his fingers. He looks back up at her face in pure awe. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

 

A dark glint flashes in her eyes — a thrill rushing through her, something wicked and lustful. “Tell me,” she says, breathless.

 

He shakes his head as he lets his gaze rest on her lush mounds, legitimately not entirely able to believe what he’s seeing. “You are,” he says, squeezing her breasts so they’re smushed together, “so goddamn beautiful.” He pushes them up so they’re sitting high on her chest, her unbound hair brushing over the slope of her bosom. “Jesus, Clarke, look at you. Fucking _unreal_.” He flicks his thumbs over her hard nipples, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. “Christ. So fucking _responsive_.”

 

She arches against him, hips swivelling against nothing. “God — _Bellamy_.”

 

He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her cleavage, boosted all the way up thanks to his hands. He lets his tongue dart out across the heated skin, and feels her tremble against him.

 

“Are you wet, baby?” he breathes, palms still working her breasts as slowly as he can force himself to go. “All this attention to your tits making you wet?”

 

She nods, unable to tear her eyes from his mouth working over the tops of her breasts. “Yes, Bellamy, _yes_ , I—”

 

He drops one hand from her chest, gently pulling the dress down from where it’s still bunched around her sternum. “I know, princess, I know. Let’s take care of you, huh?” Pushing the dress off her hips, he lets the material pool around her feet, focusing instead on the spot between her thighs, where a damp patch is already obvious on her panties. He traces the edges of the wet patch, humming in genuine approval. “Shit, Clarke. I haven’t even touched you, and you’re fucking _soaking._ ”

 

She actually _does_ whine then, her hips writhing urgently against the wall. “Bellamy — _please_.”

 

Caught off guard by his own satisfaction at finally getting the _‘please’_ he’s been searching for, he suddenly decides he’s spent enough time teasing both of them. Hooking his fingers into the soft cotton of her underwear, he yanks them down and off her legs. She’s barely managed to kick them aside before his hands close around her ass, her legs automatically going around his waist as he hitches her up and presses her back into the wall.

 

She cries out when he grinds hard against her, fingers burying themselves in his hair as she throws her head back against the wall. He holds still, breathing heavily as he realises that he’s still fully clothed, the fabric of his pants rubbing against her bare folds.

 

“Okay, princess?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern.

 

Her eyes fly open, nails digging into his scalp as she glares at him.

 

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ stop,” she snaps, pushing her hips against him insistently. “I swear to God, Bellamy, I will—”

 

His laughter spills out of him without any warning, surprising even him. “Okay, okay,” he says in between chuckles, unable to stop even when she delivers a stinging slap to his chest. “ _Ow!_ I said okay!”

 

She rolls her eyes, pushing back so she’s pressed flat against the wall, as far from him as she can get in their current position. “Look, if you’re not gonna be _serious_ about this—”

 

He cuts her off with a heated kiss, lips moving against hers with renewed fervour. He only pulls back when she’s slumped and sagging against him, her arms thrown all the way around his neck. “Does it _look_ like I’m not serious about this?” he says, punctuating his question with a deliberate thrust, his hips driving into hers.

 

Her mouth falls open at the hard contact of his rigid cock against her, his arousal more than clear, even through his pants. “Oh, _fu_ —”

 

They’re already deep into another urgent kiss before she can get the words out, pushing and pulling at each other with lips and tongues and hands. Her hands tug sharply at the waistband of his pants, shoving it down along with his boxers with a single motion so that his cock springs free, thick and hard between them.

 

He barely has time to blink before her hand is wrapping around it, pumping him with uneven but firm strokes.

 

He breaks away from her lips, gasping into her neck as he thrusts helplessly into her hand. “Wanna fuck you like this,” he tells her, his voice low and ragged. “Right here, princess, right fucking here.”

 

She makes a sound of frantic agreement, angling her hips up eagerly, her sensitive nipples brushing roughly across the fabric of the sleeveless shirt he’s still wearing. With one hand, she guides him so that his thick head is pressing against her entrance, which is already dripping and ready for him. Dropping his head to her shoulder, he pushes forward, sliding all the way in with a single, measured stroke.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he breathes into her skin. He groans when she arches against him, taking him even deeper. His grip tightens on her ass, his chest heaving with the effort of maintaining his last shreds of self-control. “Fuck, Clarke, _shit_ — you gotta give me a minute.”

 

She holds still for all of five seconds before breaking down, wriggling impatiently in his grasp. “ _Move_ , Bellamy.”

 

He huffs a despairing laugh, shaking his head against her collarbone before lifting his head. “So fucking _demanding_ ,” he mutters, before he starts to pump his hips.

 

Her eyes slide shut, the breath knocked from her chest at the first in-out stroke of his cock in her. “Oh, God. Yes — yes, _again_.”

 

He thrusts into her again, and again, and again. Over and over, until they’re both panting heavily and shaking, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with pleasure.

 

“Faster, Bellamy,” she pleads, her blunt nails raking across his scalp. “ _Faster_.”

 

But he doesn’t go faster.

 

Instead, he adjusts his grip, shifting her higher so he can hold her more securely with one arm, bringing the other around to the front of her body.

 

“You feel so good, baby,” he says, his voice breaking slightly as he thrusts on the word _‘good’_ , hips smacking into hers. “So tight,” he says, fucking up into her again. He slips his thumb down, pressing firmly on her clit. “So _wet_.”

 

She keens, hands flattening over the planes of his shoulders as she pushes back against the wall. He watches her move against it, pushed up and down the cheap patterned wallpaper as she rides his cock, her breasts bouncing enticingly on her chest.

 

“Too slow,” she gasps, fingers digging into the slope of his shoulder. “Please, Bellamy, _faster_.”

 

But he doesn’t go faster.

 

Instead, he starts to rub at her clit, teasing it with slow, hard circles as he keeps up with the even pace of his hips.

 

“You’re so fucking tight around me,” he murmurs into her neck, dropping a hot kiss to her flushed skin. “Fuck, babe, you’re getting even tighter.”

 

“ _Bellamy_ ,” she half whines, half scolds. “ _Please_ , I need—”

 

His thumb suddenly starts _vibrating_ against her clit, rubbing fast and almost _violently_ hard on her sensitive bundle of nerves.

 

Her mouth drops open in a silent, strangled scream, her arms and legs tightening around him as she bows clear off the wall, her pussy walls spasming fiercely around him. He presses her into the wall, his dick shoved as deep as he can get it inside her while she rides it out, clinging tight to him with her entire body like her life depends on it.

 

It’s a little while before she starts to come down, her limbs relaxing slightly around him. He gives her short, shallow thrusts with his hips, letting her work her way out of her daze at her own pace.

 

“Fucking incredible,” he tells her, his face buried in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Fucking amazing.”

 

She sighs, rolling her hips into his to meet his next thrust with an eager sort of contentment.

 

Her response tears a groan from his throat, and suddenly they’re off the wall, him covering the distance to the nearest bed with a few long strides — the one not covered in metal parts.

 

He lays her down on top of the sheets, settling himself between her spread thighs, one of her legs draped over his forearm. She lets him maneuver her limbs about, watching him move with a small, blissed-out smile on her face, one hand idly plucking at her own nipple. It’s, hands down, the hottest thing he’s ever seen, and he growls in equal parts frustration and enthusiasm before ripping off his wife-beater.

 

“So fucking perfect,” he grits out, before starting to pump into her again — this time, at a pace _much_ more vigorous than before. It instantly makes her moan, her eyes sliding shut so she can fully appreciate the sensational havoc being wreaked on her body. It’s only a few thrusts before they’re flickering open again, her gaze sliding down so she can watch his cock driving into her cunt, again and again.

 

His jaw clenches, and he forces himself to catch his breath, to steady his voice before opening his mouth to speak. “You wanna give me one more, princess?” Her eyes snap to his, widening in surprise even as her irises darken with arousal. His rhythm picks up even more when he feels her clench around him, hot and wet. “ _Shit_ — you feel that? Feel yourself getting all worked up again? You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you?”

 

She keens, arching her back so her breasts are pushed even further up, like she’s offering them to him. “ _Fuck,_ Bellamy,” she moans, her voice rough and dirty.

 

On its own, the sight is enough to drive him crazy, but her vocalisations send him all the way over the edge of control. His cock swells even harder inside of her, and a familiar tightening in his balls alerts him to his own impending release.

 

“One more, huh?” he coaxes urgently, his hips speeding up just a little more as his thumb finds her clit yet again. “One more, baby. For me. Come on, Clarke.”

 

She gasps, hands flailing helplessly about on the sheets before grabbing at his hips. “I— I’m gonna—”

 

With a loud cry, he falls forward, bracing his weight on a forearm so he avoids crushing her. His hips piston sharply into her twice more before driving all the way into her, his body jerking uncontrollably against hers as he comes. Her pussy clenches around him, pulsating powerfully as it milks him for every last drop.

 

He collapses onto her, his cock still twitching inside of her, both of them too spent to move. They stay like that for a minute, their chests damp and sticky with sweat as they heave, struggling to catch their breaths.

 

As soon as the feeling returns to his limbs, he moves, slipping out of her and flopping over onto his back.

 

Throwing one arm over his eyes, he exhales. “Christ.”

 

“Fuck,” she agrees, her eyes still closed.

 

They fall back into silence, the moment stretching out in between them.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her turn her head towards him. “So you’re just… _not_ going to tell me what that was all about?”

 

He lies still, staring determinedly at the dirty beige ceiling.

 

Suddenly, he pulls himself up, rolling over to cup her jaw with one hand as his lips descend on hers. Despite the abruptness of his movements, she doesn’t seem surprised at all, melting into his touch within a split second, all soft and warm. She opens readily for him when he licks at the seam of her mouth, letting him explore her as thoroughly she explores him.

 

Pulling back, he hovers over her, unable to meet her gaze. Instead, he stares darkly at his hand as it slowly slides out of her hair and smooths down over the curves of her body, settling flat over her ribcage.

 

“I just got so jealous,” he confesses, low and quiet.

 

She watches him for a long moment, something unreadable flashing in her darkened irises.

 

After a few seconds, she sighs, her fingers coming up to curl into his hair.

 

“Well, good to know you know what it feels like, at least.”

 

His gaze snaps to hers in a heartbeat, his brows shooting up in surprise. “What?”

 

Her nails rake lightly across his scalp in a back-and-forth motion, and her eyes fix on some indistinguishable point along his jawline. “Last week, when that girl at the carnival was all over you, giggling and flipping her goddamn hair like a fucking teenager.” She sighs, more resigned than embarrassed. “I had to clench my fists so hard just to keep from socking her in the face.”

 

He can’t help it; he just _stares_ at her.

 

She fidgets under his intense gaze. “Aren’t you gonna say something?”

 

He shakes his head slowly, eyes still wide and focused on her face. “Can’t decide what I want to do more right now — laugh at you or kiss you.”

 

She does laugh at that, rolling her eyes at his smug grin as she punches his shoulder lightly. He’s definitely a fan of her laugh, her entire face lighting up as her cheeks curve with happiness.

 

He’s not so much of a fan of the way her expression sobers suddenly, her chuckles trailing off into nothing.

 

He frowns, his palm squeezing reflexively over her waist. “Hey. What’s up?”

 

She seems to be thinking especially hard, her eyes focusing on some point along his shoulder for a good few seconds before pulling back up to meet with his.

 

“What are we doing?”

 

The question throws him back a little, he’s not going to lie.

 

He swallows, trying to ignore the way the inside of his mouth suddenly dries up. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean… I don’t know.” She frowns, her gaze searching his face. “Is this a good idea? To keep doing this if it’s going to jeopardise every job we go on from now on?”

 

He shrugs, but even he knows that the move doesn’t come off as nonchalant as he hopes. “We’re partners. Sleeping together doesn’t jeopardise that.”

 

“How do _you_ know?” she asks, her brow arching skeptically. “You make a habit of sleeping with all your partners?”

 

He wrinkles his nose. “Seeing as the only other partner I’ve ever had is O, I’m gonna go with a hard ‘no’.”

 

But she doesn’t laugh at that, her brows drawing tighter on her forehead. “So it _is_ this, isn’t it? We’ve never had problems with jobs until we started… _this_.”

 

He watches her face contort with uncertainty, her expression mirroring the feeling knotting uncomfortably in his gut.

 

Finally, he sighs, shaking his head.

 

“You’re right.”

 

Her eyes dart up to his, widening in surprise. “Huh?”

 

He shifts, propping himself up higher on his elbow so his other hand can trace aimless shapes across her stomach. “You’re right. Partners don’t sleep together. Partners don’t get jealous when the other gets hit on while undercover on a job.” He shrugs, curving his palm over her belly. “So I guess we’re not partners.”

 

She stares at him. “We’re not.” Her tone is neutral, but the question is written all over her face.

 

He squints, as if deep in thought. “We’re… something else. Something more.”

 

Some undefinable emotion dawns on her, making her look like she’s glowing from the inside out, and fuck if it doesn’t make his heart lift in his chest.

 

“More,” she repeats carefully, the slightest hint of unsurety still lingering in her eyes.

 

He leans in, letting his lips brush hers once, light and feathery, before pressing in harder, steady and firm. Pulling back, he makes sure to meet her gaze, brushing her hair back from her still-damp forehead. “More.”

 

She looks up at him, her gaze searching. Whatever it is that she sees in his eyes, it’s more than enough for her, because when she nods at him, her blue irises are completely free of doubt.

 

He can’t resist dipping back down for one last kiss, before pulling back to grin at her. “Come on, we’d better get dressed before O gets back. She’ll have a conniption if she finds out we just fucked on the bed she already claimed.”

 

Suddenly, there’s a loud pounding on the front door.

 

“I _heard_ that!” Octavia’s voice yells through the thin wood. “Hurry up and put some _clothes_ on, assholes! _God,_ you’re both pathetic. I want the _other_ bed now!”

 

“How does she always _do_ that,” Bellamy grumbles, pushing up and off the bed reluctantly.

 

Clarke laughs, following him off the bed to grab her discarded dress from the floor. “Just don’t remind her we already fucked on the other bed yesterday.”

 

He snorts, pulling his underwear and pants up over his hips. “You got it, partner.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com) is masquerading as an FDTD blog for the next few days lmao


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